


Perigee

by ba_rabby



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Sexual Content, Violence, werewolfAU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-27 15:30:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5054092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ba_rabby/pseuds/ba_rabby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tattoos were one of many secrets Eames hoarded after their break-up. Arthur had a raven on one shoulder blade and a star-scape followed the curve of his ribcage. He told Eames once that the knots of scar tissue beneath the ink were merely the remnants of an old dog bite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Apogee

**Author's Note:**

> **Perigee** : _(Astronomy)_ The point in the Moon's orbit where it is nearest to the Earth and thus appears larger (Compare to antonym: apogee)
> 
> \-----  
> This is my submission for the 5th annual Inception-Reverse Bang inspired by [cimila's artwork](http://cimila.livejournal.com/7074.html)

Eames tested his ability to forge. The cramped office space looked real, and Eames had never been keen on using external totems. Nevertheless, arriving at a new job to find Arthur was enough to make Eames worry that someone had put him under.

Eames couldn’t change his shape.

Arthur looked up from his typing and with a polite nod, said, "Hello, Mr. Eames.”

As though it weren't the first time they'd seen one another since parting ways in the LA airport three months back. As though this weren't their second job together since their ‘break up’. As though Eames hadn't been slightly lazy and neglected to ask the architect who she hired on point.

"Arthur," Eames replied with forced joviality. "Lovely to see you."

A small smile flickered across Arthur’s face. "Ylva will be back in a bit."

"I'll set myself up, then," Eames replied and made his way to an empty desk.

Ylva bustled in twenty minutes later. "Eames," she boomed. "Good of you to make it. I'd shake your hand, but I’m a bit burdened down." She grinned and raised a tray of coffee cups and a bakery box aloft as she squeezed through the rental space. Her hair was a red riot of frizziness; the fall humidity did her no favours.

"You know Arthur,” she said. "This is Paloma," Ylva said gesturing to a dark, wiry woman trailing behind her carrying a brown paper bag.  

"Pleasure to meet you," Paloma said absently. She took the bag with her to a science-y looking corner near the only window.

"I didn't know what you'd like, so I got a bit of everything," Ylva said to Eames. She opened the box to reveal an assortment of muffins and donuts. "Have you eaten yet?"

"A while ago," Eames replied.

“Help yourself. Coffee’s there with cream and sugar if you need it. Let me know how you like it and I'll make it up next time, yeah."

 

After the second day of planning, Ylva threw her whiteboard marker down and said, "Let's just kidnap the bastard and go at him with a hammer in the dream until he talks."

"That will trigger projections," Paloma replied evenly as she swilled a beaker.

" _Is_ he militarized?" Ylva turned to Arthur.

Arthur flicked through his notebook, his back tense. "My research hasn't turned up anything yet."

"Keep digging until you're sure," Ylva replied. She frowned while absently rubbing the fuzz along her chin. “I don’t want to spend weeks dawdling with research, but I’m afraid we can’t do more until we know more.”

"We _could_ go with a kidnapping, though," Eames said. "Maybe not him, but… How is he with his wife?" he asked Arthur.

"They've been married for twelve years. No kids," Arthur shrugged.

"You thinking of a scenario where we kidnap the wife?" Ylva asked with a grin. "Devious."

"Yes, but does he care about her enough to give up that kind of information?" Arthur countered.

"That's what we'll find out isn't it?" Ylva rose, looking invigorated. "Arthur, can you get Eames close to the wife?"

"How close are we talking? Close enough to talk to her or close enough to observe?"

Oh, Arthur and his specificity.

Ylva replied without missing a beat, "To talk to, I think. Kill two birds with one stone. If she and Mr. Bacarro are close, Eames will find out."

"Shouldn't be a problem," Eames replied. "But I was planning on tailing Bacarro."

"Arthur, can you manage that?"

Arthur frowned. "I’m in the middle of the rest of the research. Paloma can't--?"

"A black, anglophone woman in an Italian corporate office will attract attention. The last thing I need is for him to recognize me when we're putting him under," Paloma said as she carefully pipetted into a flask. "And I don't look nearly as dashing in office attire as you do, Arthur." She smirked.

Eames cast a curious glance at Ylva.

"I'm afraid I don't exactly 'blend in' with the corporate world either," she said with a knowing smile.

Eames could understand that. Red hair tended to attract attention. Add to that the fact that Ylva was a head taller than him with the build of a shot-putter and no, she did not fit in with the corporate aesthetic.

 

Ylva didn’t seem to care, though. Eames found it off-putting and fascinating.

"You planning on forging me, Mr. Eames?" Ylva asked after having caught him watching her.

Eames scoffed, "And what use would that be?"

She arched a bushy brow.

He back-pedaled, "Friends with some corporate types I might extract from?"

"Oh, I don't know. Arthur mentioned that you liked to forge buxom young things to distract the mark." She batted her lashes.

It startled a laugh out of him. She was not even remotely the type of woman that Eames could forge as a distraction. He decided to deflect with, "Arthur told you that did he?"

"He mentioned it was part of your repertoire when he was trying to sell you." She fiddled with one of the small handheld mirrors Eames had been practising in. She lowered the pitch of her voice until it matched Arthur's, "'A forger can be useful for this kind of a job,' 'Eames' forges are flawless,'"

Eames tried hard not to gawp. But, he and Arthur had gotten along surprisingly well. So perhaps he shouldn't be surprised. Eames made an effort to take Arthur's comments graciously. Arthur smiled on a semi-regular basis, even when Ylva ruffled his hair.

She barrelled on, "I wasn't really sold on the idea of a forger for this, but I have to admit the plan is pretty ingenious."

 

The mark needed a root canal and preferred to be anaesthetized; they had their opening. The hygienist was so easily bought it made Eames think twice about not flossing.

Two days before going under Arthur and Ylva disappeared on a 'final overnight round of reconnaissance'. Whatever they found, it didn’t affect the plan, and they plugged into Mr. Bacarro just after his anaesthetic kicked in.

********

 

Catalina squinted against the light when the hood was finally yanked off her head. Another woman towered over her with a cell phone in her hand.

"You see, Mr. Bacarro," the woman said, "We've been host to your lovely wife for the last few hours. However, I am under the impression that she's had quite enough of out company and would like to go home. Wouldn't you, my dear?" She directed that last bit to Catalina. The woman's expression was wolfish in a way that made Catalina want to flee.

"Catalina!" A tinny voice came through the phone speaker.

"Darius?" Catalina called out. She tried to get up but forgot she was bound. There was a loud scraping noise as the chair's balance shifted. She was going to fall on her face. 

The other kidnapper caught the chair as it was about to topple over. He righted it without a word.

"Darius, help me please," Catalina cried. She leaned away from the man behind her.

Darius' laboured breathing rattled through the phone. "What do you want? I can forward the money to your accounts. I can--"

"It's not money we're after, Mr. Bacarro. Though it is kind of you to offer. We will be needing the Kingston reports from your department."

"Those are confidential," Darius replied weakly.

"Yes. And we need them. It's not exactly negotiable."

"But--"

"You're at work now, aren't you? I'm sure you could get the files within, say, the next forty-five minutes. I am sending the address to your phone as we speak. I hope to see you there. I’m sure Mrs. Bacarro feels the same."

The woman turned the phone off before Darius could protest further.

"Less than an hour is cutting it tight," Eames said once he'd shaken off the forge, the rope was suddenly very tight around his much thicker wrists. "I thought we had ten minutes top-side."

"It's all the time we'll have with this militarization," Arthur said as he undid Eames' bindings. “They were suspicious as soon as we got down here.”

"You don't really think--" Eames started but fell silent at the distant sound of sirens. "Bloody hell."

"They're not close," Ylva said peering out of the apartment window. "We still have time, but we need to move."

 

Ylva didn't have a taste for Arthur's paradoxical architecture, but her builds were solid and her mazes were sound. This one was made of alleyways too narrow for police cars. The trio managed to evade sub-security for twenty minutes before they ran into trouble. A mob of projections spotted them. Eames wasn't wearing his Catalina forge.

Civilians were the worst kind of projection to run into. At least, armed projections simply shot you dead. Getting mauled barehanded by a maddened crowd was not high on Eames' list of things that were ‘good for his mental health’.

Ylva, Arthur, and Eames shot at the crowd as they drew nearer. They managed to pick off the bulk of the projections before they were hit by a wave of bodies. In such close quarters, with so many attackers, Eames was more likely to kick Ylva or Arthur out of the dream than shoot a projection so it became an all out brawl.

Eames went for reliable chokeholds and neck snaps. Arthur flowed like water around the projections, weaving through them and opting for joint locks and breaking bones. Ylva had a right-hook like a sledgehammer.

One of the projections jumped on Eames' back. Pain exploded in his face as it bit him.

"Fuck," he yelled.  

He punched at the projection, but the angle was off, and his blows weren't landing right.

The projection was yanked away, making Eames stagger back. He turned expecting to find Ylva pummelling the projection into pulp. But he couldn't see through the crowd of bodies. The projection screamed as he was dragged out of the mob. Eames was quite certain he heard growling.

Ylva called out from the other side of the mob, "This way!"

Eames followed the sound of her voice and he and Arthur slipped through the shortcut in the alley’s wall. Once they were all inside, Ylva promptly barricaded the door with a cabinet.

"Everyone all right?" Ylva asked between pants. She winced when she looked at Eames and pointed to her cheek.

Eames sealed the cut with a bit of forging, but the pain lingered.

"Huh," Arthur said, watching him.

"I'm sure you've seen me do that before," Eames said.

" No," Arthur replied. He was smiling, his dimples on display.

Ylva bore the same expression and, like Arthur, there was a predatory gleam in her eye.

"Tell me again why you're not on point?" Eames asked her as she wiped the blood from her face.

"I hate computers," she replied.

Arthur chuckled and shook his head.

Arthur's appearance was distracting. He was dishevelled and flushed.  _God, I'm a mess if I think that's sexy,_ Eames thought. There was blood on Arthur's face and shirt and what looked like a bruise forming on his cheekbone.

Arthur cracked open the door at the other end of the room. "Ok. We're clear. Let's split up. I'll take the rooftops and cover you."

 

They managed to avoid incident for the remainder of their time in the maze. They had to reveal themselves when they met with Darius, though. Eames pulled his forge back on, and Ylva used a struggling Catalina as a human shield when she arrived at the drop-off point. 

"Hold your fire or she's dead," Ylva called out as she jammed the pistol against Catalina's neck.

This was the gamble.

The subconscious was difficult to control even at the best of times. But loved-ones pried gaps into the defences that even a formal militarization couldn’t patch.  

The projections lowered their weapons at the sight of Catalina.

"Mr. Bacarro," Ylva wrenched Catalina's arm making her cry out.

The projections tensed.

"The documents we requested," Ylva said.

Darius withdrew a manila envelope from his coat pocket. He tossed it onto the ground between them. His eyes never left Catalina.

"My wife, please," he said.

After a beat, Ylva shoved Catalina forward and dove for the envelope.

At that moment, Arthur's smoke bombs went off and filled the room. In the confusion, the projections opened fire while Darius screamed.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" Darius yelled as the projections fired blindly into the smoke. 

A stray bullet sliced through Catalina. By the time the dust cleared, Ylva was gone, sequestered in some hidden alcove memorizing the data. Catalina was sprawled on the concrete floor, blood seeping from her chest.

Darius ran to her. "Catalina!"

She gasped in pain when he embraced her.

"What have they done?” His hands shook. “No, no."

"Darius,” Catalina whispered. She felt faint.

"No." Darius shook his head. "Call an ambulance!" he cried, but his voice grew fainter and fainter.

 

Eames opened his eyes and stared at the discoloured ceiling. There was rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor, the asthmatic hiss of the PASIV. Eames rose, removed the line and began spooling it in. The mark was still under, as was Arthur and Ylva.

"Everything all right?" Paloma asked from Darius’ side.

"Ylva got the report," Eames said.

Right on cue, Ylva's eyes snapped open. "That was unpleasant."

"Did you get the information?" Paloma asked.

Ylva tapped her temple. "In the vault." She looked at Eames. "You're out early."

"The projections opened fire," he shrugged. Paloma removed Ylva's catheter and pressed a bandage to her wrist.

"Pity," Ylva replied. "You all right?"

Eames smirked. "This isn't my first rodeo."

Arthur got to his feet, yanked out his line and went to the Darius' side, adding more sedative.

Ylva shrugged. "Dying is never fun." She turned to Arthur. "How's he doing?"

"Fine," Arthur replied. He glanced at his watch. "We didn't do bad for time."

"I'll forward the payment to your account," Ylva said.

Paloma clicked the PASIV shut, and they slipped out of the dentist's office.

Once Arthur delivered the second part of the ~~bribe~~ payment to the hygienist, the team skipped town several thousand dollars richer.

********

 

 _When_ _Eames had first worked with the Cobbs, Arthur followed the couple around like a barely-trained Doberman. His dreams were the most stable Eames had ever experienced. They still were._

_However, Arthur could never be the subject. If organized crime ran on contracts, it would be in Arthur's. There were rumours of a botched militarization. That didn't surprise Eames, though nothing was confirmed._

_Eames attempted to proposition Arthur when they ran into one another after their third job together._ _He took a seat at the bar beside Arthur, who barely spared him a glance._

_"Can I buy you a drink?" Eames asked, mentally bunkering down for a long seduction. A slow convincing that recreational sex might not be a career-obliterating move._

_Arthur gave Eames a once over, downed the rest of his drink and said, "Or we could skip the pleasantries and go upstairs."_

_"You-- what?"_

_Arthur smirked at Eames' expression, which was probably somewhere between flabbergasted and elated._

_Eames schooled his features and replied as suavely as he could manage, "Right. Yes."_

_They had kissed one another breathless before Arthur pulled back. His cheeks and lips were flushed pink._

_"You wanna top or bottom or...", he trailed off._

_"Are there other options?" Eames asked dazedly._

_Arthur chuckled. Eames didn't think Arthur could laugh. Not outside of the dreamscape when he was beating the ever-loving crap out of projections._

_"I'm up for anything," Arthur said. His eyes were on Eames' mouth._

_"I'd like to top," Eames replied._

_"’Kay," Arthur said._

_Arthur's body was yielding and generous and so many other words Eames would never have thought to describe the Cobbs' scowling little guard-dog. Arthur touched Eames everywhere. Touched himself everywhere, one hand curled around his prick, his other rough p toying with Eames' nipples. All Eames could do was try to maintain a steady rhythm until he couldn’t._

_"You've got tattoos," Eames said afterwards, tracing Arthur's skin. There was a black bird on one shoulder. And along Arthur's chest and down his abdomen, the universe exploded: nebulae, constellations, and the inky dark of space. Eames was certain there was a metaphor for sex in there, but he was too fucked out to parse it._

_"So do you," Arthur replied._

_"Yes, but you're Arthur."_

_"I know my name."_

_Eames glared at the back of Arthur's head._

Arthur turned grinning before he yawned _mightily. "Excuse me," he said covering his mouth. "I should probably hit the hay."_

 _Arthur scouted around for his trousers, which he found under the bed. Eames had expected Arthur to be fastidious about his clothing, but he'd shucked them like they burned once he and Eames got to the hotel room._ _Eames, who had expected to be the one doing the ravishing, felt a bit like he'd come out of a storm. One of the tropical ones, with coconuts flying about like missiles. Eames had expected a lot of things. He had some major revisions to make on his forge of Arthur._

_"That was fun." Arthur had his clothes back on. His tattoos all covered up and his hair slicked back (mostly). But he was smiling. That wasn't 'professional Arthur'. 'Professional Arthur' didn't smile._

_"Uh. Right," Eames said, transfixed by the way Arthur's already sloe-eyes crinkled even more. He had dimples._

_"We should do it again sometime." Arthur flicked his cuffs. "Not on the job. But, afterwards."_

_"Right. Yeah."_

_And they did. And it was great until it wasn’t._ _Until Eames wanted more, and that hadn’t been the arrangement._

********

 

After a great deal of work, Eames managed to acquire Arthur’s contact information. When Eames called, Arthur picked up after the first ring.

"Hello, Arthur? It's Eames."

"Yes?"

"I've got a job that needs someone who can handle himself in the dream and topside. Are you free?"

"Where's the job?"

"Marrakesh."

There was a pause.

"If you'd rather not, it's all right," Eames said after the silence stretched. "I was only wondering."

"What's the job?"

Eames explained it. It was the kind of thing that Arthur used to enjoy: complex secrets and militarized mark which also happened to be guarded in the real world. Eames didn't know if Arthur still liked that sort of thing, but it didn't hurt to ask.

"When does the job start?"

"A week from tomorrow."

"I'll need forty-eight hours to get back to you," Arthur said.

"You can't give me a 'yes' or 'no' now? No need to leave me in suspense, darling," Eames replied forcing a smile into his voice and mentally chastising himself for the pet-name.

Arthur ignored it. "I can get back to you in forty-eight hours."

Eames cleared his throat. "Right--"

Maybe this was a mistake if Arthur was already being a prickly bastard.

"I need to check my contacts,” Arthur admitted. “I don't work outside of the EU often.”

"I can give you my list."

"That won't be necessary."

"All right. I await your call with bated breath."

"Goodbye, Mr. Eames." Arthur sounded like he was smiling. 

Eames didn't have to wait long. Arthur called him confirming his role in the job within twelve hours.

 

And that had been that. Eames and Arthur worked together on and off. It was the same, and it was different.

As before, Eames would come up with the ideas, Arthur would argue and critique and demand. His abrasiveness was a whetstone. He refined the plans until they went from grandiose and over the top to something logistically sound and quite possibly even safe. They didn't exactly work _well_ together, there was something stilted and awkward about their interactions, but the end result was wild success.  

Arthur's temper seemed to have mellowed. For all their arguments, Arthur didn't make things personal like he used to. They didn't see one another between jobs like they used to either. No more fucking in hotels and motels and on one memorable occasion in the alley behind a nightclub. Eames thought about joking that since they were getting along, they should hook up again. He didn't think that he would like Arthur's reaction, though. That sort of thing was only funny in your head.

When Eames didn't return home to Mombasa, he vacationed somewhere warm with beautiful boys who were taken in by a British accent and a splash of charm. Occasionally Eames visited his mum. He brought her the kind of subtly expensive gifts that kept her comfortable without asking too many questions. He even visited Ariadne on occasion when she wasn't swamped with end of year projects.

Arthur vanished to parts unknown once the job was through. He could be reached with a bit of elbow grease. Usually.

********

 

Eames was on a job in Russia that desperately needed Arthur's research skills but lo and behold, Arthur had dropped off the map.

The chemist, Rafe, leaned against Eames’ desk, watching the extractor and the-point-man-who-was-not-Arthur snarl at one another. Eames usually took umbrage to people sitting on his worktables, but Rafe had a marvellous arse.

"It's like watching a pair of high school girls," Rafe stage-whispered.

Eames didn't comment. He only had a few more pieces to apply to his passport before he could leave it to set.

"How's your end of things coming along?" Rafe asked.

"Fine." Eames shot a meaningful glance at Rafe's chemistry set-up.

Rafe had just returned from a day-trip somewhere. He didn't say it was for work, but Eames didn’t ask. He was so done with this job.  

"I'm done my work,” Rafe chuckled wherever he'd been Rafe seemed far more mellow. “At least with the information we have. Hopefully, the mark doesn't turn out to be on antipsychotics or some other bullshit." He scowled. "I've mixed up enough Somnacin to do the job twice, so long as Neil doesn't find out something I should have known three weeks ago."

Eames grimaced. Neil had recently discovered that the mark had a favourite niece, which meant that they had to come up with a new plan, as Eames' current dream-forge wouldn't work. Fortunately, Eames didn't have to start over on the paper forges. He might have throttled Neil if that had been the case.

"Oh, the glories of dis-organized crime." Rafe sighed and crossed his arms, his attention distracted by the argument’s sudden increase in volume. His forearms bulged. When paired with his broken nose and that swagger, he looked like a bruiser in a lab coat. Not all chemists were as retiring and professorial as Yusuf. 

Eames smiled as he put the finishing touch on the passport and sat up.

“All done?” Rafe asked.

“Just about,” Eames replied.

"You want to get a coffee or something? The screeching's giving me a headache."

The extractor and point looked like they were nearing blows. One look at Rafe's arms had Eames grabbing his coat. The great debaters didn't notice them leaving. Eames was tempted to tell them to stay away from his area while the adhesives dried, but they should know that by now. If they did go near his workspace, it would give him an excuse to shoot them.

 

They pulled the extraction off, barely. The 'barely' was mostly their point's fault and partly shit luck.  

Rafe approached Eames as they rapidly bleached desks and burned documents. Neil and the extractor were mercifully silent.

"Eames? A word?" Rafe said.

Eames doused his waste-bin fire and followed Rafe to a corner. "What's up?"

"Listen, this job was good-paying and all, but all the cash in the world won't matter if we're dead," Rafe whispered. "Neil couldn't find his ass with both hands."

Eames didn't say anything. He made a point of not making disparaging comments about colleagues within earshot.

"I've heard you're working with Arthur full-time. Or that he's working with you full-time."

"I wouldn't say 'full-time.' We work together when the spirit moves him."

Rafe chuckled. "Yeah, but who else is he working with? Cobb's out of the business and no one’s seen hide or hair of Arthur except for a few jobs I've heard you were on."

"I hardly keep track of who else he works with," Eames replied. It was a lie, but good Lord, dream criminals were gossips.

"He's not retiring is he? Pulling out from the business?"

"I hope not," Eames said. "Who else would have reams of network information at their mental fingertips."

Rafe chuckled. "It would be a bit of a blow if he left. Anyway, if you two are ever looking for a chemist, give me a call. I'd love to work with someone with a fully-function brain." He shot the point-man a disgusted look.

"I'll bring it up, see what Arthur thinks," Eames said.


	2. Old Moon

Eames didn't take Rafe up on his offer. Arthur never lacked for Somnacin and when he needed something special he contacted Paloma. Or he called Yusuf who could be guilt-tripped into selling at reduced prices. Eames did, however, call up Ariadne. Arthur was looking to do a militarization and Ariadne was looking for work after graduation. 

The militarization was the easiest paycheck Eames had earned in a while. They finished the whole thing in less than three weeks. He looked longingly at their snazzy corporate office space on their last day.

"Not getting all teary-eyed are you?" Ariadne asked as she shrugged on her coat.

"You have no idea how nice it was to work in a place with a functional toilet."

She snorted and shook her head. "Seriously?"

He shrugged.

"I guess that's one deterrent from a life of crime."

Eames laughed. "Can't be worse than student accommodations."

"Laugh it up," She mock-glowered then brightened. "Hey, Arthur and I are getting dinner. You should come."

"Uh." Eames was about to say that he wasn't hungry when his traitorous stomach growled.

She looped their arms together. "Come on. We have to celebrate."

"A corporate militarization?"

"Okay, that's probably not a big deal for you guys. But we never really got a chance to celebrate the Fisher job. What with having to get the hell out of LA before we were spotted. Let's celebrate something." She pulled out her phone and typed one-handed as they walked. "Okay, I told Arthur you were coming so you have to come now."

Eames ignored the jolt in his gut. He'd faced down violent projections, surely he could stand a few hours of social interaction with Arthur.

 

The restaurant was a quiet, dimly lit place with an impressive beer list. Arthur got them a booth. He seemed just as uncomfortable as Eames felt. But Ariadne managed to hold both of their attentions while allowing them to avoid talking to one another. It was less awkward than Eames expected.

When their dinner arrived Arthur attacked his meal like a man starved. His knife sawed through the meat easily, it gushed pink juices that puddled on the plate. Eames had always found Arthur's preference for illegally rare steaks at odds with the immaculate suits and slicked back hair.

"You know," Ariadne said. "I thought you and Arthur were trying to ignore me until I went away. I've been dying to go under again."

"Don't look at me," Eames said. "I don't own a PASIV."

Arthur looked like he was fighting a smile.

"Yeah, but I've been bugging you for jobs," Ariadne replied.

"You must have been asking Arthur for jobs because I distinctly remember you lamenting the lack of openings in your schedule because thesis projects were 'eating your life'. I also remember you complaining--"

"All right. Enough of that," Ariadne grumbled.

Arthur chuckled. "You literally just graduated Ariadne. I hope you didn't burn through your payout from Fisher all ready."

"Please. That's going towards student debt."

"And that is why I never went to university," Eames said. "Student loans and gambling debts do not mix."

 

The noise picked up as more corporate-types filtered in for Happy Hour. Eames felt delightfully buzzed. Arthur seemed on his way there if the number of beers he'd downed was any indication. Ariadne was very drunk, Eames hadn't expected any less. She drank like a student: cheaply and copiously.

"You guys should militarize me," she slurred.

Arthur snorted, "And what sensitive information do you need to protect?"

"You never know," Eames said. "She could know the answers to last year's final exam."

Arthur grinned. "Maybe the location of the _professional-grade_ drafting supplies that the instructors hoarded."

"The best corner in the library for a snog," Eames chimed in.

"Fuck off," Ariadne replied, shoving Eames' shoulder with a laugh. "Seriously, why not, though?"

"If you're planning on getting into dream-share, formal militarization's not a wise career move," Eames said.

"Are you guys militarized?" Ariadne asked.

"Nope," Eames replied.

"Why not?"

"Dreaming is my professional occupation," Eames said. "I'd be cutting off my nose to spite my face if I wanted to keep people out of my subconscious. It would be rather inconvenient if my projections were armed and threatening while someone was trying to work."

"I hadn't thought of it that way."

"Why would you?" Arthur replied. "It's your second job." His head was tipped against the back of their booth exposing the line of his throat. Eames swallowed.

Arthur continued, oblivious to Eames' staring, "People in dream-share have tools to know when they're dreaming. Totems are one example. There are others," he nodded at Eames. "For dreamers to survive in the business they need measures to protect themselves. But militarization's not the only option."

"The people we militarize aren't interested in dreaming professionally or even recreationally," Eames added, pulling his gaze away from Arthur's alcohol-flushed cheeks. "Their subconscious ends up generally more aggressive. The slightest disturbance might set off an attack."

Arthur made a noise of dissent. "Not all the time. It depends on the client and the person doing the militarization. Dr. Jadi's subconscious will probably only react if she's frightened."

"Maybe. But she is a genuinely sweet and cautious woman who doesn't like hurting people. How many people in the corporate world could you describe in those terms?" Eames replied.

Arthur huffed a laugh but conceded his point.

"Has anyone ever tried to extract from you?" Ariadne asked.

Eames shook his head. They turned to Arthur.

"Yeah. A couple of times," Arthur admitted leaning forward and taking a swig of his beer.

"You mean someone tried more than once?" Eames asked.

"It wasn't the same person." Arthur gave a wolfish little grin that made Eames shiver.

"What…" Ariadne prodded at her cutlery. "If you don't mind my asking, what were they after?"

"Information."

She gave him a flat look.

He shrugged and smiling. "I know a lot of things about a lot of people."

"You mean that party trick where you can recall the location of any dreamer within three seconds?" Eames asked.

Arthur chuckled as he peeled the corner of his beer bottle label.

"How do you do that?" Ariadne asked. "I heard Dom asking about some guy and you replied with 'Bristol' or something and Dom just said 'okay'. He didn't even ask you to check."

"I have a notebook in my head with the locations of everyone in dream-share," Arthur dead-panned.

"Seriously?"

He gave an enigmatic smile.

Ariadne shoved his shoulder. "Ass."

"Hey!" Arthur said. His hand jerked when Ariadne shoved at him and the beer label tore down he middle. It _had_ been coming off in one piece.

Ariadne gave a mock apology and Arthur pretended not to accept it.

The thing was, Eames believed Arthur about the book. He might have been joking around, but Arthur had an unbelievable photographic memory. Where else could you store sensitive information than in the mind of someone whose subconscious could not be entered?

 

********

 _Back_ _before Mal killed herself and Dom nearly dragged them all into limbo, Dominic and Mallorie Cobb were the best in the business. As the best, they demanded the best. They didn't always require a forger, but when they did, they called Eames._

_Working with Dom and Mal gave Eames a chance to work with people who were brighter than the average crook and had their shit together. It also gave him the chance to gaze upon Arthur's lovely scowling countenance. Arthur was always the same on the job: aggressive, demanding and violent once the projections got wind of them. However, they got the information and got out alive, so Eames was in no position to complain._

_Once the job was over, Arthur became what Eames thought of as 'fun Arthur'. 'Fun Arthur' rode Eames' cock like a rodeo champ. 'Fun Arthur' fucked Eames like a deranged animal. 'Fun Arthur' laughed and lounged around naked until he wanted to sleep. And with a friendly wave or kiss or smack on the arse, he would dress and go to his own bed. Wherever that bed was._

_He never stayed. Eames tried to keep that from bothering him._

_They worked across continental Europe and occasionally in North America. Robbing the rich and keeping for themselves. Mal's mixes were fantastic. It was still the early days when a bad chemist could make a mix that was like tripping 'shrooms (if you were lucky). If you were unlucky, you'd end up tossed out of a moving car in front of the ER whilst having a seizure. Eames always found it odd how mistrusting people were of forgers when it was the chemists you had to watch out for. They could taint the line; kill the whole team through malice or, worse, incompetence._

_But Mal, she was brilliant._

_"He has been happier since you started sleeping together," Mal had said to Eames one day. Mal was also nosy as hell._

_Eames spared her a glance before returning to his reading. Arthur and Cobb slouched side by side on the sofa; the PASIV wheezed softly on the coffee table. They were running experiments on manipulating and honing projections. The idea was to shape a projection that did specific tasks, like an automaton. It only worked if the person was the subject, but it was an interesting concept. Not full-on militarization, but a notion that could be useful._

_"I don't know what you're talking about," Eames said._

_Mal laughed. "Arthur has told me about your trysts."_

_Eames grimaced. He certainly hoped Arthur kept some things to himself. There was that embarrassing incident of slightly-early ejaculation and there was that one time they got drunk and Arthur did that thing with his tongue... Anyway, Eames didn't want that sort of stuff going around. He had a reputation to uphold._

_Mal continued, "He's such a lonely boy. I'm glad to see him happier."_

_"I'm sure Arthur would take offense to being called a 'boy'," Eames replied as he flipped a page._

_She laughed again. "I've known him for long enough."_

_"Was this a Dickensian tale of the generous benefactor taking in a lost orphan?" He asked it melodramatically, but he was desperately curious. Arthur looked at the Cobbs like god-saints. Mal especially._

_"Arthur's family is still alive." Mal shrugged, "Though he was lost when we met. He might tell you if you asked."_

_"I like my liver where it is, thank you."_

_She smiled._

_After a beat, Eames said, "Don't you have chemicals to mix?"_

_Mal slumped backwards and waved her hand towards her science alcove. "The reactions have to incubate. There's nothing I can do until they're finished. Then we'll test them."_

_"Arthur again?" Eames asked, unaccountably annoyed that Arthur was, yet again, their guinea pig._

_Shrewdness flashed across Mal's expression before she glanced at the sleeping pair and said, "Arthur has some chemical sensitivities. I need to proof the mix against him most of all."_

_Eames frowned. "Is that why Arthur only works with you and Dom?"_

_"Hmm?" Her gaze was fixed on Arthur. Or Dom. Eames couldn't tell. Her expression always softened for either of them._

_"I said--"_

_"I think he likes the stability," she replied. "Do you like him?"_

_"Uh."_

_"Would you consider him a friend?"_

_Eames thought about that. They had worked dozens of jobs together. Arthur always made time to fuck Eames afterwards. Even if they had to leave in a hurry, Arthur gave Eames a way to get in touch._

_"I don't know," Eames said. "I mean," he amended quickly. "I don't think we're friends. I don't imagine Arthur sees me that way."_

_The question 'does he?' burned on his tongue, but his ego couldn't bear the thought of crawling to Mal for affirmation._

********

 

Ariadne worked with them on and off. With her acting as a strange human glue, Arthur and Eames spent time together in between jobs. 

Arthur started to send Eames personal text messages. The first time it happened Eames stared at his phone racking his brain for any previous discussions regarding emergency codes. Was Arthur in danger? It turned out that Arthur simply had trouble sleeping and thought he should ask Eames for his opinion on the new airline regulations for the U.S.

Arthur still disappeared once and a while. About once a month no one could find a trace of him, not even when Eames spent money on it. Arthur would simply turn up again as if he hadn't just cost Eames several hundred dollars. Eames eventually stopped looking for Arthur when he vanished. Arthur turned up when he felt like it and he usually answered email if it was an emergency so it seemed hardly worth the money.

 

 

After a while, spending time with Arthur outside of work was a pleasure, with or without Ariadne. They had recently completed an extraction in Seattle and met up in Portland to celebrate. Ariadne was doing a real-world internship at an architecture firm. Dream-share jobs gave her enough of a buffer to take a myriad of unpaid internships and not 'flounder in crippling debt', as she put it. 

Arthur, the pretentious sod, ordered venison. Eames grimaced when it arrived.

"What?" Arthur asked, his tone hovering between defensive and playful.

"You're eating Bambi's mother right there. I hope you know."

"You don't like it?" Arthur asked slicing into his supper that looked rare enough to start crawling off his plate.

"I could never get used to the how gamey it is."

"I love game meat."

Eames eyed Arthur up and down pointedly, paying particular attention to his waistcoat and button up shirt.

Arthur rolled his eyes and delicately ate the meat off his fork. He gave Eames a considering look and after he'd swallowed he said. "My dad and I used to hunt."

Eames' eyes widened. "That might be the first bit of personal information you've offered without prompting."

"The way you're giving my dinner the stink-eye might count as prompting. Eat your food."

Eames waved him off. "What did you hunt?" he asked, fascinated.

"Deer mostly. Rabbits. We went after moose once." He shook his head, "Don't do that."

"Don't do what?"

"Don't go after moose. They're fucking massive."

"Where did you hunt?" Eames asked finally tucking into his normal-person meat: steak au poivre.

"Just outside of Quebec. I grew up in a --"

"You're Canadian?"

"Yes," Arthur replied in a tone that said 'you didn't know?'

"But you're so aggressive and martial and..."

Arthur looked down at his plate. He was fighting a smile.

"And, so... so...'Arthur'. I'd never use those words in a sentence with the word 'Canadian'," Eames protested. "I don't think I've ever heard you apologize in my life."

"Yes, you have."

Eames felt a twinge of guilt as they lapsed into silence.

Arthur had been apologetic on the Fisher job. He immediately acknowledged that he dropped the ball, and Eames respected that. The first thing out of most dream-criminals' mouths once the job went pear-shaped was 'It wasn't my fault'. Dropping into a militarized dreamscape unprepared wasn't ideal. But under normal circumstances, your teammates didn't drug you against your knowledge while they dragged around a metric tonne of baggage and a murderous shade-projection. So militarization could be worked around. In all the jobs they had worked together since then, Arthur's research was perfect.

"Is that why you're good with guns?" Eames asked, steering the conversation away from the Fisher job. That had been years ago, surely they could move on.

"What?" Arthur frowned.

"The hunting? Is that why you're good with guns?" Eames mimed aiming a shotgun.  "Little Arthur, a bull moose in his sights."

"Not really. I mean...yeah there were guns. It's not why I'm into them, though."

"Oh."

The silence became awkward.

"Ariadne's seeing someone," Arthur said.

"Oh?" Eames arched a brow.

"Yeah. She's not in dream-share. I don't know how long it will last."

"I'm a bit miffed she told you and not me. We're better friends."

Arthur snorted. "If it makes you feel any better, she didn't tell me."

"How did you find out?"

"I'm Arthur," he replied with a smirk.

Eames guffawed and Arthur's pleased smile made his chest flutter.

"I know you think your ability to find anything out about anyone makes you seem sexy and mysterious," Eames said. "But I'm afraid that it mostly makes you look like a stalker."

"Yes, but a sexy stalker."

"Because that's much better?"

The conversation flowed easier after that. Mostly it was talk regarding the business. Eames may complain about the gossip, but he'd be remiss to ignore a juicy tidbit here and there: who was in, who was out, who had turned on their teammates.

"I am very glad we work together Arthur," Eames said after hearing about another double-cross. "I don't think I could cope with all the back-stabbing."

 

They paid for dinner with overly generous tips. They laughed at one another's fumbling attempts at walking. They were drunk.

Eames would blame the kiss on alcohol. Yes. It was the alcohol.

Arthur didn't pull back at first. His lips were as soft as Eames remembered.

"Come back to my room," Eames whispered against Arthur's mouth.

Arthur stiffened and jerked backwards. "Are you insane?"

Eames blinked

"Eames! Christ, we can't do this," Arthur said. His expression wasn't angry. Tired. Confused, maybe. Eames was better at reading expressions when he hadn't had a bottle of wine to himself. Arthur never drank wine. Couldn't drink wine. Something about the grapes.

"Look, darling. It doesn't have to be serious. Just a tumble." Eames reached for him and Arthur stepped out of range.

"You do like me, don't you?" Eames asked and cringed once the question was out.

"Yeah, but..." Arthur licked his lips and looked away. 

"I see." Eames took a step back too. His face was hot and he didn't know where to look. 

"Shit." Arthur ran his hand through his hair. "You said it yourself. You're glad we're working together. Everything's been going so well. We shouldn't mess this up."

"Mess this up?"

Arthur sighed. "You're drunk. I'm drunk. We shouldn't be having this conversation in the middle of the street." He offered a weak smile and kept his distance. "Let's get some sleep and, I don't know, talk about this later."

Eames didn't respond.

"I'm gonna go. Okay?" Arthur walked backwards. "We should go to bed. Sleep this off. Yeah?"

Eames nodded.

"Yeah. Good. Okay," Arthur turned on his heels and left Eames alone on the sidewalk.


	3. Crescent

Whenever Eames worked a job with Arthur, there was always a full-length mirror set-up in a well-lit corner before Eames even arrived. Arthur made sure Eames’ dossiers were bullet-pointed and at a 16pt font because Eames’ eyes were not what they used to be, but Arthur chose not to comment on it. Arthur knew how Eames liked his burgers when they needed to order takeout. They went out for drinks after jobs. They flirted. It had been easy to read into these things.

But Arthur always stocked Ariadne’s preferred kind of drafting paper. And while Eames' favourite tea was in a cupboard no matter where the job was, Arthur was always ready with a snack to lob at Ariadne's head when she started turning into a 'hangry' beast.

It was what Arthur did.

 

When Eames woke up the morning after the _kiss_ , he thought about 'talking it over' with Arthur for exactly thirty seconds. He snatched his phone from the nightstand and booked a flight to Barbados instead. After Barbados, he went to Suriname, Costa Rica, Greece. Eventually, he meandered his way back to Mombasa. He ignored Arthur’s calls.

Eames was home for a week before Yusuf dropped by.

"I heard you were back in town," Yusuf said. He gave Eames a once over. "I see you're having another Arthur-shaped meltdown."

"Piss of," Eames grumbled as he let Yusuf inside.

They talked shop while Eames pretended he wasn't nursing a hangover. Afterwards, Eames forged some poker chips to prove to himself that he wasn't wallowing. They weren't very good.

Eames' stomach plummeted every time Arthur called. And he kept calling. Eames kept ignoring him.

But when Ariadne called Eames picked up immediately.

"Hi," she said sounding disgustingly chipper.

"Hello, love," Eames said and cringed at the way his voice sounded like someone had crushed his windpipe. He extricated himself from the sheets and sat on the edge of the bed feeling sticky and nauseous.

"Are you all right? You sound sick," Ariadne said.

"Just getting over a cold."

"That sucks."

"Tell me about it."

"I've finished my meat-space internship so if you're in need of an architect for a dream job, hit me up."

"Ari, you only called to offer your prodigious services? Not to enquire about the state of my person?"

"Girl's gotta hustle. I tried getting a hold of Arthur but he dropped off the map right after was done his job with Ylva and Paloma."

"Hmm. I'll be sure to call you if something comes up."

"That's all I can ask." She hesitated. "Have you spoken to Arthur lately?"

"No." He managed to keep his voice level.

"I ask ‘cause, he seemed a bit down last time I spoke to him on the phone before he vanished. Do you know if something happened with his family?”

“Why would I know anything about Arthur’s family?”

“I don’t know. You’ve known him for longer.”

"I'm sure he's fine," Eames said. He was not remotely inclined to talk about his indiscretion and he was grateful that Arthur hadn’t mentioned it. If he had, Ariadne would be talking about it now.

"Listen,” Eames said. “I need to get back to work. Documents to forge, people to rob."

Ariadne laughed. "Yeah, yeah. Visit me when you're back in Europe. And tell Arthur to stop being a dick and answer my calls. I miss my two favourite dream-criminals."

"I'll be sure to do that."

They said their goodbyes and hung up. Eames stared at his phone for a beat then went into the shower.

 

Eames finished up some passports that had been languishing in his ‘To-Do’ drawer for months. He cleaned his flat from top to bottom and began putting out feelers for dream-share jobs.

He didn’t have to wait long.

"Eames, it's Rafe. How are you?"

Eames adjusted the phone on his shoulder as he stirred his soup in the saucepan. "Can't complain. And yourself?"

"I'm good. I've got a job coming up. Is your team available?"

"I can't speak for all of them. What's the job?"

The extraction from an investment banker based out of London was surprisingly simple. Eames told Rafe as much.

Rafe told Eames how much the client was willing to pay.

"Bloody hell," Eames said after he calculated the payoff between four people.

"Phelan wants the extraction done on the down-low. We'll need to find gaps in the mark’s schedule. I've heard Arthur's good at navigating that sort of thing. I've got a mix that can induce a touch of amnesia, but it will need to work around a cocktail of blood pressure medication.”

"Time frame?"

"Phelan needs the information in the next four to six weeks."

"I can do that. I'll need to run it by Arthur and Ariadne.”

"Excellent. Let me know when you've heard back."

"Will do."

 

"Is it bad that the current job market has turned me to a life of crime?" Ariadne asked after she'd accepted the job.

"You love what you do. Don't pretend otherwise."

"Yeah, but I worry that when I'm sixty-five and about to retire, I'll wake up to find that my main source of income came from kidnapping people and rooting around in their heads. You know, as opposed to what I went to school for. Kind of like being stuck in retail after graduating, but more lucrative."

"You're a dream-architect. Of course, you're using your degree."

She laughed. "Is Arthur on board?"

"Haven't asked him yet."

"It sounds like an easy paycheque. I don't see why he'd turn it down. Tell him I'll be there with bells on."

"I'll be sure to do that."

After much hesitation, Eames didn't end up calling Arthur. He sent him a text message instead.

Arthur accepted the job immediately.

********

 

Arthur was late to the job. Not actually late, but he wasn't there before everyone else. Eames, Rafe and Ariadne had arranged the tables in the abandoned shop by the time Arthur finally showed up. Ariadne was in the middle of a ramble about how there was a blue moon in a few weeks and didn't you know they only happened once every two years.

She stopped mid-sentence when she spotted Arthur. "Hey, how’s it going?"

Arthur had a tray of coffee cups in one hand, his PASIV in the other. He nodded, smiling and avoided Eames' gaze as he set the coffee onto a nearby table. There were only three cups in the tray.

Rafe emerged from his station wiping his hands, "Good afternoon, Arthur."

Arthur froze.

He stared at Rafe. A muscle in his jaw twitched. After an awkward silence, Arthur said, "Eames? A word?"

Eames shot Rafe an apologetic look

"Why is Rafe here?" Arthur hissed once they were on the sidewalk.

"This is Rafe's job."

"That's…That's not what you said in your text message. You said, 'Have extraction job in UK. Interested?' I thought you meant it was your job."

"You didn't read the documents I sent?"

"I skimmed them," he said, that muscle in his jaw twitched again. "I was going to get caught up today. But Rafe wasn't mentioned in what I _did_ read."

"Right well," Eames said. "This is Rafe's job and we need him because the mark's on heart meds or something."

"Your text message didn't say that."

"I sent you documents."

"You could have called to tell me in person," Arthur snapped.

Eames sighed and rubbed at his forehead. He should have known that Arthur wasn’t going to let him off that easy. "You want to walk?"

Arthur gave him a sharp look.

Eames shot a glance at the door to their workspace and lowered his voice. "Look, I'm sorry I kissed you. All right? It was out of line. I'm more than willing to pretend it didn't happen if we can get back to a working arrangement."

Something like disappointment crossed Arthur's face, but he covered whatever it was with a scowl.

Undeterred, Eames continued, "A working arrangement where we _communicate_ our concerns. You looked about ready to bolt when you saw Rafe. What's up?"

"I've never worked with him before. That's all," Arthur replied.

"That's all?"

"Yes," Arthur said, he ran a hand through his hair. "I was just surprised. I have Paloma on contract for the mix."

"Have you paid her already?”

"Yeah. But I can just absorb that cost and keep the mixes for personal use or something. It’ll be fine.”

 

It was not fine.

Barely two days into the job and being in the same room with Arthur was _difficult_.

"Do not come near my desk," Arthur said coldly.

"I'm just talking to Eames," Rafe replied.

Arthur gave him a black look. "Go talk to him over there and get out of my space."

"We're all on the same team," Eames said. Arthur looked like he was gunning for a fight and Eames didn’t want to have to get between Arthur and Rafe. 

Arthur rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes before he lurched to his feet. "I'm going to lunch. You want anything?"

Eames blinked. It was 11 am. "Uh, no thank you."

"Ari?" Arthur called.

Ariadne shook her head.

"I'll be back later," Arthur said. He jammed his laptop into his backpack and stalked out the door, closing it just shy of a slam.

Ariadne stared at the door. "What the fuck?"

"Sorry about that," Eames said to Rafe.

"It's quite all right," Rafe replied with an easy smile.

 

"Going with the personal assistant is the best option," Arthur said.

Eames rolled his eyes. They’d been having this argument for nearly an hour. "What makes you think the PA is the best way of getting high-clearance information about the firm when Hemming barely spares a glance at anyone 'beneath him'?"

"He's got no wife, no family. Who the fuck else are you going to forge? There is literally no one in this man's life apart from his work associates."

"What about one of the other bigwigs?"

"Don't be stupid," Arthur said. "He's not going to hand over company secrets to the people jockeying for his position."

Rafe cut in, "Well, I think you're—"

"Nobody asked you," Arthur snapped.

Ariadne looked back and forth between them like she was watching a perplexing tennis match. Rafe shrugged, unperturbed.

 

It went on like that for the next week and a half. Arthur snarled and jabbed at every bit of the plan. He found fault with Rafe's mix, Eames' forge, Ariadne's builds. Despite it all, Rafe managed to maintain a laidback approach to Arthur’s antagonism. Both Eames and Ariadne had lost their patience when they started arguing about the timeline.

“No. We should move sooner rather than later,” Arthur said flipping through his little black notebook. “We can grab him between work and drop him off at home none the wiser.”

Rafe hummed thoughtfully and shook his head. “I have to agree with Eames on this one.”

“Seriously?” Arthur narrowed his eyes at Rafe.

Rafe shrugged. “It’s not a big deal either way for me and I think that Eames has a point. The fundraiser’s the best option for nabbing him.”

Arthur floundered for a moment. “You don’t think he’ll have a security detail?”

“Arthur, I’m sure you can figure something out,” Ariadne snapped. “It’s just a matter of swapping out some paperwork.”

“Or the chauffeur could be bought,” Eames mused.

Arthur shot Rafe a loaded look. “You want to run the extraction on that date? Seriously?”

“It looks like the best option,” Rafe replied. 

Arthur gave Rafe a look that very clearly said, ‘No it doesn’t’. What Arthur actually said, rather lamely, was, “It means that we’ll be twiddling our thumbs for an extra week.”

“Yes, but after a corporate function with fountains of champagne Hemming won’t notice if he loses a bit of time,” Eames countered. “If we do it your way, in two days, he’ll notice if he loses a hour on the commute home. And since your idea for the job won out, I could use some more time observing Hemming’s personal assistant.”

Arthur stared at Rafe.

“It will be fine for the date we’ve got, Arthur. Three against one. You’ve been outvoted.” Rafe flashed a smile that was all teeth.

“Right,” Arthur replied.

 

Mercifully, Eames spent his remaining time on the job tailing Hemming’s personal assistant so he didn’t need to stay in the abandoned shop with Arthur.

“It’s gotten a bit better,” Ariadne said as they shared takeout at the little dining table in Eames’ hotel room.  

Eames hummed as he slurped up Pad Thai. That was good; he felt a little bad about leaving Ariadne with just the two of them.

“Also, Arthur smokes?”

Eames arched a brow. “I’ve seen Arthur smoke twice.”

“Well, he smokes now. He must be going through a pack a day. He’s constantly leaving for a smoke break.”

“What’s Rafe doing?”

“Aside from screwing up his nose when Arthur gets back, nothing bad. He’s sticking to his work corner and Arthur’s clacking away at his laptop. I don’t know what he’s doing. Do they have a history? Like romantic or something?”

“Arthur said he’s never worked with Rafe before,” Eames replied. “And Rafe’s never worked with him before. He was rather keen to work with him, actually.”

“Hmm.”

“Why do you ask?”

“They got into a fight today. Sort of.”

“A fight?”

“It was mostly a weird conversation. I think they thought I couldn't hear them through my headphones." 

Eames smirked. “The music was off so you could eavesdrop?”

“No. I put my headphones on so Arthur wouldn’t come by with more ‘suggestions’. But I didn’t feel like listening to anything.”

Eames shook his head. “So what happened?”

“Arthur went up to Rafe and asked him what he was doing on the job. Why he was there.”

“It’s his job,” Eames said.

“I know, right. But Arthur was all, ‘you know this isn’t going to work, so why do it?’ And Rafe said something about Arthur and Ylva getting along fine so he thought they could work something out. Arthur looked about ready to deck him for that.”

Ariadne poked at her takeout container.

“I didn’t hear the rest of it,” she said. “But I feel like they’ve got some personal history between them or something. I mean it would explain why Arthur’s been PMS-ing. If they used to dating or something. Or if…” she frowned and shovelled noodles into her mouth.

“If?”

She sighed. “If Rafe did something to Arthur.”

Eames considered this. It was easy to think of Arthur as invincible. “I asked Arthur whether there was something we needed to know about Rafe and he said no.”

Ariadne rolled her eyes. “But you know what he’s like. He won’t tell you if it’s personal. If he doesn’t think it will affect the job, it’s no one’s business. He’s getting better; I actually know some things about him. But he’s, you know, really private.”

“Yes, but it is affecting the job,” Eames countered.

“Yeah.”

They ate in silence for a while.

Ariadne said, “I feel like something personal is going on, though. Arthur freezes whenever Rafe comes near his desk. And whenever Rafe talks to me, Arthur doesn’t come over, but he’s paying attention to us. Even if what we're talking about has nothing to do with him. Honestly, it gives me the creeps being near the two of them at the same time. I feel like Arthur’s always on the verge of going for Rafe's jugular.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Well, the job’s tomorrow so we won’t have to deal with this for much longer.”

“Thank Christ.”

 

*******

To say that Eames was relieved when they finally nabbed Hemming was an understatement.

When Eames opened the door to the hired car, Hemming glared. "Where's my regular man?"

"Off sick, I'm afraid, sir,” Eames replied.

Hemming squinted but accepted Eames’ lie and clambered unsteadily into the car.

Halfway back to Hemming's house, Eames took a detour. Hemming didn't notice. He did notice when Rafe got in the back of the car when they stopped at an intersection.

"What is the meaning of this?" Hemming demanded, suddenly alert. "Who are you? Unhand me."

There was a scuffle. Silence.

"All right, he'd stabilized," Rafe said after a moment.

"Good."

Arthur and Ariadne were waiting at the extraction location in an alleyway. They had twenty minutes topside.

Rafe already had the mark hooked up to the PASIV when Arthur and Ariadne entered the limousine. When Eames came round back Arthur was staring at Hemming with a calculating expression. Arthur’s PASIV line was already inserted.

"Problem?" Eames asked. He winced at he inserted the catheter. 

Arthur's frown deepened.

Ariadne sat up, "What?" 

He didn’t speak. He settled onto his back but kept staring at Hemming. 

Arthur breathed deeply through his nose, and his eyes widened. "Rafe, wait!"


	4. Gibbous

Eames opened his eyes to a city in ruin. Buildings collapsed into torn up streets. There were no wailing ambulances, no screeching tires, no milling and dazed projections.

A voice cut through the vacuum-like silence, “Eames!"

Glass crunched underfoot as he spun around. He tried to dream up a gun but conjured nothing. He spotted Ariadne picking her way through the rubble, and he relaxed.

“Where's Hemming?” she whispered as she drew near.

"I don't know.” Eames scanned the abandoned dream-scape.

“Arthur said he might be militarized…”

“This isn’t a type of militarization I've ever heard of.”

"Me neither." She crossed her arms tight to her chest “Should we just kick ourselves out?”

Eames tried again to dream of a gun. Something small and manageable. _One of Arthur’s glocks_ , he thought.

“I don’t believe we can,” Eames said when nothing happened.

Eames could kick Ariadne out. He could throttle her or break her neck. But things tended to get awkward when colleagues had to do that. And Eames had no idea what she’d be waking up to if he sent her up alone. He didn’t think she had the stomach (nor the strength) for killing him in the dream. Not without a gun.

With a mental flick, Eames shifted into Hemming’s personal assistant: the hunched posture and shiny-cheap suit that hung from his gaunt frame. Eames turned into a caricature of Hemming himself: getting on in years, but imperious and barrel-chested, a wily glint in his eye.

Eames forged a few more generic shapes to keep the fear and roaring anger at bay. Arthur had known something was wrong, and Rafe put them under anyway. Arthur had known something was wrong all along, and he’d acted like a prat instead of saying something.

“Nothing in the dream changes when I want it to,” Ariadne said after watching Eames flip through forges. “I’m not the dreamer, but this isn’t my subconscious either.”

"Nor is it mine." Eames’ subconscious was so densely populated with projections it was a nuisance. “I think,” he said as he scanned the city. “We should find Arthur.”

Ariadne nodded. They started walking towards the original meeting point, as good a place as any. She stuck close to him. It reminded Eames that while Ariadne may be a skilled architect, she hadn’t experienced the fuck-ups. The Fisher Job was a rude baptism into the business, but it wasn’t the worst betrayal that Eames had heard of.

For all its destruction, the city’s layout was still intact. As they wound their way through the labyrinth, Eames felt they were being followed.

Rather than alarm Ariadne further, Eames said, "I feel like we’ve been walking for miles. You really need to start considering pedestrian-friendly cities, Ari. I'm sure it would do wonders for your portfolio in this day and age. With the green movement and all that.”

Ariadne laughed. It was tight and strained and came to an abrupt halt when they turned the corner.

"That's not part of the build,” she said as she stared into the forest that sprawled across the city.

The tangle of trees looked like blivet optical illusions, the devil’s fork illusion. The trunk that connected to the roots didn’t line up with the edges of the trunk that connected to the branches. It made Eames’ eyes hurt.

“I don’t know if we can get around this.” Eames peered left and right and saw nothing but trees and trees and trees until they became a fuzzy green mass stretching away into the distance.

But when he stepped closer, the trunks nearest him resolved and parted with a rustle. Eames narrowed his eyes and peered into the opening. Just beyond the edge of the forest he could make out a path winding through the trees.

“We’ve got two options,” he said. “We can wait here until the dream ends.” _Or the thing that’s stalking us catches up._ “Or we can go through this delightful forest and hope that Arthur’s in there with a gun so we can get the hell out of here.”

Ariadne looked at Eames, looked at the trees, looked back at the city.

“The only way out is through?”

Eames gave her a sharp look. She shrugged and stepped past him and into the forest.

 

The sky grew darker as they stumbled deeper. The moon glowed yellow overhead. It wasn’t full, but it was nearly there. _Gibbous_ , Ariadne had called it.

There was a commotion nearby, and they froze. A deer burst through the underbrush and across the path. Something black and dog-shaped ran parallel. Its teeth flashed white and sank into the deer’s flank making it cry out. The pair crashed into the trees and disappeared.

Ariadne opened her mouth to speak, but there was the crack of rifle-fire.

“Good lad,” someone called in French. It sounded like Arthur, but it was too far away to be sure.

It was a few moments before they moved again. They didn't speak. The forest flexed and parted around them and there were more hazy visions. A little boy pushing a girl on a tire swing and laughing, a teenager walking alone through the woods in a puffy orange jacket, the black dog curled on a child’s bed.

The forest echoed with snarling. A woman screamed every so often. A child cried out once. The light was getting too dim to see by. Eames was grateful.

“Is Arthur afraid of dogs?” Ariadne asked.

“He’s never said he was afraid of them,” Eames hedged. “He got bitten as a kid, though.”

Arthur had knotted scar tissue along his torso, his shoulder, his upper arm; all of it buried beneath the ink of his star-scape tattoo. Arthur said he’d gotten them from a bite, but he never elaborated, and Eames never pressed. Eames wondered about the black dog on the boy’s bed. Was it the family dog that had turned on Arthur? Was it the black hunting dog?

Up ahead, Arthur yelled. Eames and Ariadne looked at one another and ran towards his voice. Eames wished he had a gun.

Pots and pans clattered. Ceramics shattered. Eames heard his own voice muffled by the trees and his pace faltered. The forest was dark, but the kitchen in the clearing was lit up like a stage. Eames’ stomach plummeted.

"I thought we could talk this out," Arthur's memory of Eames said.

“How did you find this place?” Arthur was furious. But it was the particular brand of anger that Arthur only expressed when he was well and truly terrified. When shit has hit the fan and the mark had found out and someone was going to get shot.

“God fucking dammit.” Arthur’s face was red, eyes blood-shot. “I tell you that I don’t want...want... and you break into my apartment? Tonight? Are you fucking serious?"

Dream-Eames held out his hands plaintively. ”Arthur, I thought we could—“ He ducked as Arthur threw mug. It shattered two feet away.

Poorly aimed, Eames thought dispassionately.  As cliched as it sounded, it was like watching a car crash. Only it was like watching a car crash you'd been in from security footage after the fact. It was magnetic.

"We fuck. That is it.” Arthur raked his hands through his hair. “I told you that already."

“Arthur—“

“Get out!” When the projection of Eames didn’t move, Arthur’s gaze darted around the kitchen. He looked trapped, cornered. “I didn’t invite you here.” He scrubbed at his mouth, said, “You…you pull shit like this, and you wonder why no one wants you around.”

The words still stung. Even after all this time. 

"Arthur,” Mal snapped; Arthur’s memory of Mal snapped. "Arthur you need to calm down."

"Eames. Get out.” Arthur said and menace laced every carefully pronounced word.

"Darling--"

Eames felt second-hand embarrassment for his past-self, the desperation in his tone, and first-hand embarrassment because Ariadne looked torn between dawning understanding a pity.

No. He took Ariadne by the elbow and steered her away. She shook off her shock and with a sympathetic expression matched his brisk pace as they walked away from the clearing.

Behind them, Dream-Mal said, “You need to leave. Right now." Her voice was harder than Eames had ever heard it before or since. Then again, Eames had never interacted with Dom's shade.

 

  
They didn’t speak as they pushed through the forest. Then, just as suddenly as the woods appeared in the city, the trees abruptly ended and they stumbled into a clearing. Across the grassy space, dogs…no wolves lay. Their heads all swiveled in Eames and Ariadne’s direction who both froze under the attention.

The wolves charged.

Eames and Ariadne turned to run back into the forest, but the trees were an impenetrable mass. The paradox was back, and it was all a tangled wall of misaligned trunks.

“No!” That was Arthur’s panicked voice, but Eames was too distracted by the wolf climbing on his back.

He hunched his shoulder to protect his neck, expecting teeth, but just felt the damp rasp of a tongue along the back of his neck and a cold nose. Eames turned, dislodging whatever was licking him only to have another wolf lean against his legs nearly taking out his knees. They crowded, sniffing and leaping onto him. One slobbered his face. He pushed it off. But it was replaced by another one. It bore Eames to his knees with its enthusiasm, and once he was on their level, even more of them clambered close.

Arthur’s voice cut through the huffing and panting, the excited whines and rasping face licks, “No!” Some of the wolves were pulled away. “Jesus Christ, stop!”

Hands gripped Eames’ forearm and dragged him to his feet. There was a thud, like something being kicked. A wolf yipped.

“Ari!”

“It’s all right, Arthur,” Ariadne said. “They were just being friendly.” She grinned as she rubbed the belly of a tawny brown wolf. It’s tongue lolled as its leg kicked spasmodically. A few of them hovered near her, their tails wagging slowly as they sniffed at her delicately.

Arthur was silent.

“What?” Ariadne’s hand slowed in its scratching.

“You’re all right,” Arthur replied. He sounded surprised.

“Uh. Yeah.” She frowned. “What did you think they were going to do?”

Eames was surprised that she had to ask. Upon reflection, projections were rather more insistent about being near him.

“Go on. Shoo.” Arthur flapped his hands at the wolves, and they scattered a little distance.

“Are you all right? What's happening?" Arthur asked. 

"Why don't you tell us," Eames replied wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Arthur looked embarrassed as he swayed on his feet.  

"We woke up down here," Ariadne said. She scrubbed a wolf's belly. "Your projections are way more friendly than I expected."

"They're not _friendly_.” Arthur frowned at Ariadne's hand. 

“Arthur, are you a furry?” Eames asked.

Arthur looked at him sharply.

“It’s the only explanation for wolf-shaped projections,” Eames said. He was tired and irritable and embarrassed by the stage-production of their break-up and felt inclined to spread the misery. “Unless…Are they your spirit animals?”

Arthur glared and staggered off. He immediately regretted being a prat because the wolves that seemed reluctant to defy Arthur surged towards Eames again. Even seeing Ariadne playing with the projections like they were puppies wasn't quite enough to make him comfortable.

"Knock it off," Arthur snapped at the projections. He reached the centre of the clearing and sat on a log beside a black wolf that was approximately the size of a Clydesdale horse. The smaller wolf projections ignored Arthur. 

"Eames, tell them to fuck off if you want them gone."

"If you can't control them, how can I?" One of them nosed at his crotch a little too hard. “Oy. Piss off!”

The projections that had been climbing him leapt away, all crouched with their ears pinned and slunk back like Eames had threatened them with a rolled up newspaper. Even the ones near Ariadne.

"You've been under this whole time?" Arthur asked. He’d slouched on a half-rotten log.

"I just said, we woke up down here," Ariadne said as she rose to her feet and dusted her hands. “I don’t think we’ve been under for very long. The dreamscape was the mess, though”

Eames drew closer, got a good look at Arthur's pallor, the bruised skin beneath his eyes. Arthur ran his fingers through the great wolf’s fur.

"How long have you been down here?" 

“In the dream? I don't know," Arthur said. "But it's been a day and a half since Rafe kidnapped us."

“How do you know?” Ariadne asked.

Arthur’s lips thinned. “I’ve got a good internal clock for the real world.” The wolf at his feet pinned its ears and looked up at the sky. Eames followed its gaze. The moon was full now, golden bright and perfectly round.

“You look like shite,” Eames said turning his attention to Arthur. He couldn’t help but notice that some of the trees at the edges of the clearing were dead. Something silvery grew over their bark like spores or mold. Some of the projections stared up at him from where they lay in the clearing. They flopped their tails against the ground in a feeble wag but did not get up. They had the same silver covering their fur like cobwebs.

Arthur shrugged. “You’d look like ‘shite’ too if someone had been poisoning for a day and a half.”

"What does he want?" Eames asked. 

“They want to extract from me."

“They? Who’ve you pissed off this time?” Eames asked. He flinched when the growling started. He looked around. One by one the wolves lurched to their feet, hackles raised from neck to upright tail. "Arthur?"

Arthur stood slowly. The massive wolf stood slowly and swayed a little once it was upright. It too growled, a rumble that Eames felt in his bones. 

Arthur took Ariadne and Eames by the elbow and steered them away from the clearing. The projections were all facing the part of the forest where Eames and Ariadne had come through.

"What's going on?" Ariadne kept craning to look behind them as they walked briskly to the other end of the clearing.

Arthur turned to the big wolf and pushed at his shoulder. "Stay with it." 

It barely spared Arthur a glance, its attention fixed on the forest and the sound of cracking timber.

"Damnit. Just for once would you be useful,” Arthur dropped Eames and Ariadne's arms and shoved at the wolf two-handed.

"What's happening?" Ariadne asked again.

Another massive wolf trotted out of the forest. It was the same size as Arthur's giant projection, but it was brown with a lose curl to its hair that was almost human. Eames immediately thought, Rafe. Which was patently ridiculous because while Arthur's projections might be furry-wolf-spirits, there was no reason for Rafe to show up in a dream shaped like a horse-sized canine.

Arthur's projections growled at the newcomer, but rather than attack they closed rank and contracted around Eames and Ariadne and Arthur. 

Arthur’s eyes widened.

The brown wolf stared and seemed to smirk at the trio before putting its nose to the ground and snuffling through the leaf litter.

“Should we run?” Ariadne whispered.

Arthur shook his head.

“What does it want?” Ariadne asked.The brown wolf drew close to the centre of the clearing, to the half-buried log. The projections growled louder.

The brown wolf drew close to the centre of the clearing, to the half-buried log. The projections growled louder.

“Shit,” Arthur said.

The brown wolf nosed at the log, kicking up leaves with each exhale. When it began to dig at the base of the projections broke rank and attacked. The brown wolf turned, snarled and charged. Instead of attacking the projections, it bore down on Eames and Ariadne and Arthur.

The black wolf puffed up, blocked the way, but despite its size, it was bowled over by the brown wolf. Pain exploded up Eames' arm. Pressure and puncture pain. His shoulder dislocated when the wolf shook him. His head whipped back and forth.

Eames experienced a moment of weightlessness before he crashed into something hard and then dropped to the ground. The projections’ snarling was distant through the red mist of agony. Arthur and Ariadne’s calls were far away too. Eames panted. He wouldn’t die from this. A dislocated shoulder and whiplash just hurt like fuck. He wouldn’t escape the dream.

Eames took a deep breath. Shifted. Forged.

His bones burned where he pulled them together. His new skin prickled as it sealed shut. He got to his hands and knees. In the freshly dug up soil, his fingers brushed against a book cover.

It was the size of Arthur’s little black notebooks. It was almost exactly like Arthur’s notebook except that it was pale grey and nearly glowed silver against the brown-black earth. Eames’ clumsy fingers struggled with the book, it flopped open when he dropped it. Photographs covered the page, annotated in Arthur’s tightly controlled script. Photographs of humans and wolves.

Eames looked up. Arthur and Ariadne were trying to evade the brown wolf as it lunged at them. Some of Arthur’s projections snapped at its heels. Some of them lay dead in the clearing.

Eames staggered to his feet. He clutched the book to his chest. His brain was foggy with pain even though he’d forged himself back together. _Pain is in the mind_. He took a faltering step towards Arthur and Ariadne. Then he thought about just getting away with Arthur’s secrets before the timer ran out. The fact that Arthur had been _sitting_ on it suggested that this was what the kidnappers were looking for.

Ariadne turned to him. Her eyes widened. She opened her mouth to speak… and vanished.

“Ari!” Arthur called.

His projections leapt onto the brown wolf. It spun in circles to dislodge the attackers on its back. They tore tufts of hair from its back and flank.

Eames turned ran for the forest. If he could hide Arthur’s secret, maybe they could…they could… He expected to have to tear at the trees, but they parted for him as they had in the city.

Something large crashed through the forest behind him. Eames ran faster. The forest parted faster, guiding him. He came to a rock face. The wolf was crashing behind him. The trees were sealed on all sides even the path he came from was closed off.

He scrabbled along the rock, cursing and casting for some way to climb it. He didn't want those teeth on him again. 

The brown wolf thrust through the trees that splintered around it and stopped, it's muzzle barely two feet away from Eames. The trees must have tightened around the animal because it could go no further as it snarled and snapped at Eames. Its face was a mess of scratches, and its chestnut hair was matted with blood.

Eames panted as he pressed his back against the rock. He had no idea how long the trees could hold it.

The brown wolf spoke, “Why would you protect his secrets?”

Eames gaped.

Even though it was as trapped as Eames, the wolf’s smirk was back, and it spoke again in Rafe’s voice. “How well do you really know him? He got you into this mess with his secrets. Is he really worth it?”

“You kidnapped us,” Eames replied. Maybe it was Rafe after all. 

“It’s just business, Eames,” Rafe smiled, and a predator’s smile with all those predator teeth was a horrible thing to see. “To think, if you’d been cooperative we might have let you go before the full moon.”

Eames frowned. "What?"

Rafe jerked and screamed. It was a high, canine shriek and he struggled anew. The trees to Eames’ left parted and Eames leapt through the opening before Arthur’s subconscious got any other bright ideas. The forest held Rafe fast.

Eames darted away, skirting Rafe to find the large black wolf was tearing at Rafe’s back and legs. The smaller wolves attacked like piranhas. 

Eames back-pedalled. “Arthur?” he called over the screams. 

The giant black wolf stopped. It turned to Eames and cocked its head. Blood smeared on its tongue when it panted, slicked its muzzle.

Eames was unsure whether he should run or play dead. He never knew with animals. “Arthur?” he called daring to look around.

“Yes?” the black wolf replied in Arthur’s voice.

“What the —?“ Eames began, but before he could finish, he opened his eyes and stared at a dingy wooden ceiling. Beside him, a PASIV hissed and wheezed.

 

*******

  
Eames tried to sit up, to rub his face but his wrists were bound. Too tightly by the way his hands throbbed.  
  
“Easy there.” A palm rested against his shoulder.

Eames blinked and frowned. “Paloma?” he croaked.

She flashed a mirthless smile and cut his bindings. He flexed his stiff fingers. “Ari?”

“I’m here,” Ariadne said from off to the side. She was in a chair massaging her wrists, Eames was sprawled on a musty smelling sofa.

Ylva bustled into the room. “Hemming’s run off, but we can probably keep Rafe for questioning.”

“I don’t think that’s our priority,” Paloma said slowly as she picked up a bottle and frowned at the label.

There was a crack of furniture. Arthur and Rafe were awake. Eames lurched to his feet to fight at Arthur’s side, but Ylva barred the way.

“You’ll get bitten," Paloma said as she pulled Eames and Ariadne back. 

“You what?”

“You can’t just—” Paloma’s gaze flicked away and back. “Just don’t.”

The pair snarled like dogs. Actual dogs. Eames shivered, trying to shake the disorientation. Ylva didn't intervene, which was strange. But then again, maybe she wanted Arthur to get his payback. Or something. 

Arthur put Rafe in an arm lock, gave a sharp twist. Rafe yowled. Arthur flipped Rafe onto his back and silently pummelled his face. 

Arthur punched and punched and punched. Rafe was unconscious. Or dead. Or brain damaged.

"I'm sure that's quite enough," Ylva said. She spoke quietly and to Eames' surprise, Arthur stopped. He sat on Rafe's chest panting but he didn't hit him again. 

"Bloody hell,” Eames croaked.

Arthur spun around. His shirt was in tatters, tattoos peeking through the tears. He staggered to his feet and stalked towards Eames. His pupils flashed green as he crossed the dim room.

“Arthur,” Ylva snapped.

Arthur looked at her, and his expression cleared. He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. His fingers were claw-tipped.

Eames tried to change his shape. Nothing happened. He glanced at Ylva, who looked like a coiled spring. He looked at Paloma, who had a hand near her hip.  _Ready to draw_ , Eames thought. 

“Arthur?” Ariadne said carefully.

Arthur leaned away and bore his teeth. They were far too large for a human mouth. Far too sharp.

Eames couldn’t change his shape. This was real life. There was no waking up. Eames swallowed, took a step away. Shielded Ariadne with his body.

Arthur’s next growl turned into a moan.  
  
“We need to get him out of here,” Paloma said, mostly to Ylva. "The bottle. The stuff Rafe was using..."

Ylva nodded but didn’t look away from Arthur, didn’t say a word.  She was closest to Arthur. When his knees buckled she was the only one able to catch him in time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay and thank you for all the comments. 
> 
> For anyone interested in what a blivet illusion looks like: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Impossible_trident  
> (Be warned, looking at it for too long really does make my eyes hurt)


End file.
